WASHINGTONIUM — A new imperial message has thundered forth from the Palatium Album, where Donaldus Trumpius Caesar Maximus, Protector of the Outlets, Conqueror of Sparks, and Supreme Extinguisher of the Known Universe, has proclaimed the sacred Week of Fire Prevention.
The reason is grave.
Fire, the imperial court has discovered, is hot.
Very hot.
Possibly some of the hottest fire anybody has ever seen.
A revelation of such magnitude naturally required a presidential message.
Trumpius first honored the courageous firefighters, first responders, emergency personnel, and volunteers of the Empire — the men and women who heroically run toward precisely the situations from which everyone else is desperately trying to escape.
“Great people!” the Caesar essentially proclaimed. “They fight fires. Tremendous fires. Some people say the hottest fires in history.”
The imperial gaze then turned toward the American home.
Every loyal citizen should possess an escape plan. Smoke alarms should be tested. Carbon monoxide detectors should not be regarded merely as mysterious ceiling decorations installed by previous homeowners.
And then came the sternest warning of all.
The imperial Ministry of Domestic Combustion identified perhaps the most dangerous creature lurking within American civilization:
the overloaded power strip.
For generations, this sinister beast has hidden behind couches, beneath desks, and underneath Christmas trees, carrying a television, three chargers, a lamp, a printer, two holiday decorations, and one electrical device nobody remembers purchasing.
Trumpius Caesar has effectively declared war upon it.
Frayed electrical wiring must also be replaced — a revolutionary doctrine in households where the traditional replacement schedule has often been: when sparks become visible.
The Great Imperial Escape Maneuver
The new Trumpian fire doctrine also demands household escape planning.
Families should know how to leave their homes during an emergency. Doors should be identified. Windows should be accessible. Escape routes should be practiced.
Attempting to burst dramatically through a closed patio door while shouting “MAKE WAY FOR CAESAR!” remains strongly discouraged.
Electronic devices have also attracted imperial scrutiny. Phones, tablets, batteries, and chargers must be used responsibly, lest a harmless smartphone suddenly transform itself into a privately owned Mount Vesuvius.
Thus, the doctrine of Trumpius now encompasses every level of American existence — from enormous western wildfires to an iPhone charging underneath somebody’s pillow.
Caesar Creates a Legion
But Trumpius would not be Trumpius if America could solve the problem merely with functioning alarms, sensible electrical wiring, and common sense.
No.
An Emperor requires a legion.
Caesar had already issued an imperial decree intended to streamline the Federal response to wildfires, strengthen local preparedness, and deploy modern technology against the flames.
Now comes the proposed United States Wildland Fire Service.
At the imperial court, however, no institution may possess a name that sounds remotely ordinary.
It shall therefore be known as:
LEGIO IGNIS AMERICANA.
Its sacred mission: detect wildfires, coordinate the Empire’s forces, deploy technology, and remind unauthorized flames that they are burning on sovereign American territory without the proper federal paperwork.
Satellites may watch from above.
Drones may patrol the forests.
Sensors may sniff the air.
Somewhere in Montana, a suspicious campfire flickers.
LEGIO ALERTED.
A grill begins smoking in Texas.
UNDER OBSERVATION.
A slice of bread remains in a Florida toaster three seconds too long.
NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL CONVENED.
The Republic is prepared.
The Heroes Who Need No Golden Laurel
Behind all the imperial spectacle, however, lies a serious truth.
America’s firefighters, first responders, emergency personnel, and volunteers really do place themselves in danger when others need help. They deserve far more than ceremonial applause from Washingtonium.
Because while Caesar signs proclamations, ministries invent titles, and imperial advisers presumably prepare PowerPoint presentations titled Strategic Flame Resilience: A Whole-of-Empire Approach, firefighters are standing where the fire actually is.
They extinguish it.
They rescue people.
They act.
No marble columns required.
And so the Sacred Week of Fire Prevention concludes with a perfectly Trumpian vision.
America shall become safer.
More prepared.
More resilient.
More ready than any civilization has ever been ready before.
Smoke detectors shall beep.
Wiring shall be replaced.
Escape routes shall be mapped.
The Legio Ignis Americana shall stand vigilant from sea to shining sea.
And somewhere deep inside the Palatium Album, a nervous staffer quietly unplugs an overloaded power strip behind the imperial desk.
Not because he fears the fire.
But because nobody wants to be the man who has to explain to Trumpius Caesar that his gold-plated coffee machine burned down the West Wing.
